Page 12 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“Your daughter. Jessica. She told me you led Piedmont to the championship during your own time here.”

“Really? Jessica suggested me?”

Now, this surprise was all pleasure. I hadn’t said too much when Jessica had brought up joining the archery team, afraid that I would sound overeager to push her into following in my own footsteps—minus the unexpected teen pregnancy, of course.

We had always been close and done everything together, especially after George died, but now that Jessica was fourteen, she had her own ideas of how she wanted to spend her time, and it had less and less to do with me. So hearing that she wanted me around? Yeah, it was a nice surprise.

“Really,” Max said dryly. “I was as surprised as you are. Most teenagers don’t want their moms hanging out with them.”

“We have a very special relationship,” I said crisply, ignoring the fact that I had been thinking the same thing.

“Of course.”

I cocked my head and studied him. “You didn’t read my file.”

“Your student file? No. Why would I do that? You’re a local business owner, the PTA treasurer, and, according to your daughter, the three-time state champion in Junior Archery. I don’t particularly care if you got a B minus in algebra, Kate.”

“I never got a B minus,” I protested. “In anything.”

He just looked at me. Like adults shouldn’t care about things like high school algebra grades.

A flush stole up my neck. Fourteen years ago was another lifetime, but somehow that bratty kid who cared so much about beating her classmates for top honors was resurfacing with a vengeance. Maybe it was being back here, in the principal’s office, where I had been told I would have to finish the year at home and would not be allowed to walk across the stage for my diploma. Maybe that was what brought all those old rebellious feelings roaring to the surface.

Or maybe it was him. Fourteen years of good behavior, and I had thrown caution to the wind and had sex with a man I had thought I would never see again. He had seen me cry during sex, of all things. He had seen me at my worst. I could forgive almost anything, but not that.

“My time at Piedmont did not end well. I got pregnant my senior year. Principal Tingle”—I jerked my head in the direction of his portrait—“suspended me from classes. I was allowed to complete my schoolwork at home, but I couldn’t be here with my friends and classmates. I couldn’t attend graduation. And I was removed from the archery team.”

My hands clenched into fists at the memory. “I wasn’t that big yet. I could have competed. I could have won.”

Max glanced at Principal Tingle, and his expression turned several degrees colder. “I wasn’t aware of your history.” He frowned. “And I can’t say I approve of his actions. I understand if your memories of Piedmont Latin are too painful for you to help us.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not too painful.” Like I would ever allow my own feelings to get in Jessica’s way. Piedmont Latin was the best education to be had in Hart’s Ridge—maybe even as far as Asheville—and Jessica deserved the best. When my parents had offered to pay the tuition for their granddaughter, I hadn’t hesitated to say yes.

And I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes now. Jessica needed me.

But he didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Not until he had suffered just a little bit waiting for my answer.

“What I mean is that there might be some parents or teachers who don’t think I’m a good fit, even though it’s temporary. They might think I’m not the greatest influence on teenage girls,” I said. “It’s different being the PTA treasurer. All I do is count money.”

“Then they’re welcome to come talk to me about it. And once they have their say, I’ll have mine.”

I blinked. He would…defend me? “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your daughter recommended you, and I don’t need much more than that. But just to be safe, I did ask around. No one had anything but good things to say about you. She’s such a sweetheart, they said. Every single one of them.” He held my gaze, a sly, knowing glimmer in those green eyes, and his mouth twitched with a barely repressed smirk. “I’m guessing none of those people have ever played Egyptian Rat Screw with you.”

My hand tingled at the memory, as though I could still feel the satisfying sting of a winning slap. “You don’t know me.”

It was the second time I had said that, and somehow both times it felt like a lie. Oh, he didn’t know my favorite color or my birthday or any of the other minutiae that, cobbled together, constituted “knowing” someone. But he saw a part of me that no one else did. He saw through my sweetheart, Widow of Hart’s Ridge veneer, to the messy underbelly below. He saw the woman who cried during sex and had a vicious competitive streak.

And I didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

I had worked so hard to be who I was now. To be the kind of person Hart’s Ridge would rally around. For Jessica’s sake. I hadn’t wanted my daughter to be punished for my mistakes.

And I had succeeded. People in Hart’s Ridge might not have been too fond of Kate Locklear, teenage mean girl and unwed mother, but they adored Kate Gonzales, army widow and town sweetheart.

“You’re right that I don’t know you, Mrs. Gonzales,” Max said. “But I know enough to believe you would be an adequate temporary substitute to coach the archery team. Can you help us?”

Adequate? My spine snapped straight. I regarded him silently through narrowed eyes. Nothing I did was merely adequate.

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